Even Immortals Fall in Love
by vampyrchilde
Summary: Thou art all fair my love and there is no fault in you . . . Steven is a vampire and in order to live he needs to feed off those that are in love with him. Does he love Anne too much to kill her or will the need to live win over?
1. Intro: Inner Demons

**Disclaimer**: Immortality aka Wisdom of the Crocodiles & it's character's don't belong to me even if I wish they did. So as you very well know, no suing huh?

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_Intro: Inner Demons_

Grlscz walked around his apartment with newfound energy. He knew she was on her way. She was coming and it would soon be time to do what _had_ to be done.

Everything had to be spick and span before she got there. He needed perfection. This would be the first time she saw the apartment and he didn't want her to notice anything wrong with the place.

He entered the bedroom and stared at the bare bed. The red stains of blood were flashing their redness like a stoplight, as if telling him not to go on with his plan. He came out of his stupor and spread out the plastic sheet over the bed. Even _it_ had an odd quality to it, some sinister detail with the crimson stains from his previous kills.

He took out some sheets and covered the plastic with red satin. Today's plan would be a little different . . . he knew that already.

The gift he made lay wrapped for her by the night table. Her flowers were in the kitchen. She was bringing the food . . . all he needed was her.

He walked back to the living room and stared out the tall windows. The sky was beginning to darken, leaving him to his dark thoughts. He looked to his left and stared at the sketch. The drawing was one he had made of his human self fighting his demon (death-bringing) self over the woman he loved.

The outline didn't really say all that though it was obviously him in his hospital garb fighting death over a woman who was not facing the viewer. You could see that the woman had long dark hair, small breasts, and pale skin; a likeness to the woman who was coming to see him now: his Anne. It reflected the feelings he had regarding the situation with her, how conflicted he was in this situation. He didn't know what he wanted to do, combat death in order for this woman to live or let it take her in order for himself to go on.

"Oh Anne . . . why couldn't you just leave it alone?" he asked, sighing sadly as he stared at the woman in the drawing longingly.

He ran his hands over her body for a minute in thought as he closed his eyes. He shivered as he felt the cold of the glass, instantly thinking of the cold of death and he opened his eyes in fear of what he would see. They were full of something heart-wrenching: sadness, anger, solitude . . . he needed her in every way but he knew what would happen as soon as she entered that apartment. He looked at death and smiled in defeat, as if telling him that he won even though the battle was only beginning.

He walked over to the kitchen as he waited for her arrival. He sat, drinking some wine as the seconds became minutes and an hour passed by. He drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. He was beginning to think she wasn't going to show and was trying to pacify his sadness, his anger and pain . . . when there was a soft knock at the door.

He got up as he looked over at death and composed himself by fixing his clothing. He drank the rest of the wine in his glass, hoping it would give him the strength to do what he had to. He took a few deep breaths while holding the door frame, knowing that she was on the other side, feeling her warmth coming through the door. He opened it with a smile on his face. When he saw her, he lay back on it looking at her for a moment, taking her in. The sight of her almost knocked the breath out of him. He almost had to remind himself to breathe, but no . . . thankfully not in front of her, not this time.

He held his hand to his mouth in thought. His cold eyes were penetrating her to the core.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming" he said seriously.

"Aren't you going to let me in or are you just going to stand there?" she asked arrogantly, impatiently as always. Oh she _was_ like air; she smiled right through him and his insecurities, calming him for just a moment.

He gestured her in with a wave of his hand and closed the door.

- - - - - - - -

They ate quietly, leaving enough time for thinking. Steven Grlscz's mind fought over what he wanted to do as a man possibly in love and what he _had_ to do as a predator. His body was deteriorating; he knew he would have no choice in the matter but he wanted a choice, he _needed_ one.

"Are those for me?" she asked breaking the silence that held onto the air as if for life itself.

"What?" he asked looking up; suddenly startled from his thoughts.

"The flowers silly, are they for me?" she asked again with a smile.

"Oh, yes," he replied, returning her smile. "Yes," he repeated as he got up to retrieve the lilies and presented them to her. "For you" he said kneeling and laughing while his heart broke inside.


	2. 1: Secrets Revealed

_Chapter 1: Secrets Revealed_

The only thing she could focus on was his charm, his never-ending charm. That and the way he would always look at her, as if there was just something about her he couldn't get enough of. It was intoxicating.

The flowers lay at the side of the bed as did her other gift, a nude sketch of her. She now lay on her stomach, her long dark hair hanging to the side and her clothes strewn all over his floor. All she wore was her lace panties as she stared at her likeness. She always thought he made her too beautiful in his sketches, telling him that he made her something that she was not. He always argued, telling her he merely portrayed her as she was, that always made her smile.

His kisses roamed up her body as she stared at the drawing. She let him be in control this time. The last time they had done this was when those thugs had attacked them; one was going to rape her. She had been so afraid, but he fought them, he had saved her and she hadn't been able to help the longing for him then, the _need_ she had for him.

She had been in control that time when they had . . . whatever it was. But now it was Steven . . . there was something in his eyes that said he _needed _this. She didn't want to withhold that need from him, and she wanted him so badly, needed him so badly.

His kisses consumed her flesh with heat and flame. A thin layer of sweat was already beginning to cover her body as his lips went up her legs and spine. The want within her was consuming her, sending chills up her spine. His hands roamed over her, as if searching for something. His nails lightly scratched her soft, humid skin as he continued to discover her body.

He turned her around roughly and his soft lips kissed her chin slowly until he found her face in the darkness. His hands caressed her features, pushing her dark hair out of her face tenderly. He held her back, looking at her for a moment, mesmerized by her beauty. He then kissed her passionately, pushing his tongue into her mouth as he pushed his hips into hers.

He let her go slowly, going down to her neck with his lips, sending more chills down her spine. He breathed in her scent and was dizzied by her warmth, by the smell of jasmine and sweat that clung to her the way that she clung to him now. He began to kiss her again, going up her jaw line and down her neck slowly yet roughly.

His lips kissed between her breasts as his hands grabbed at her sides, holding her closer to him. He could feel her heart beating quickly beneath his lips. She ran her hands up and down his back as he kissed her breasts one by one, softly at first and then a little more roughly as he played with her nipples slowly with his warm tongue.

Her hands brought his face back up to hers. She kissed him passionately and then whispered in his ear, "Steven, come on, please . . ."

He chuckled at her impatience and continued to kiss her as his hands trailed down her body and parted her legs. He teased her over the thin lace, fingers brushing her softly as his tongue continued to plunge in and out of her mouth. He pushed aside the fabric, parting her wet lips with two fingers as she shivered with anticipation. She gasped and arched her back as he slipped a finger into her and bit her chin softly. She moved with his hand, her hips following as his finger moved in and out of her tantalizingly.

She growled, feeling her face flush as the orgasm approached. He kissed her neck as she peaked. She grabbed him by the hair, pulling him closer to her for another passionate kiss, looking him in the eyes as if telling him that they both needed this, telling him that she hungered for his flesh. He pulled down her panties roughly and entered her finally as she tilted her head back in response to the pressure that he put between her legs.

She wrapped her legs around him and brought his face closer to hers. She kissed him with all her might; she wanted him to know she wanted it as badly as he did. He smiled again when she let go and began the rhythm. She ran her nails down his back as he plunged enter her, enjoying the pain he brought her. She bit his shoulder to keep from moaning out his name. Her hands clutched the sheets as he thrust into her again and again, enjoying the mix of pleasure and pain as he began to go faster and harder.

He could feel her body becoming warmer as they continued to move together. She turned her face into the pillow and bit it, feeling the orgasm coming . . . all he could see was every vein in her throat. His rhythm picked up at the sight. He pinned her hands down to the bed as he continued to push into her even harder and faster. She came and she couldn't move with him on top of her and her hands pinned to the bed, his face buried in her chest, not that she wanted to either. He had come with her just like the last time they had done this . . . when they had fulfilled this human need to put lock and key together and let the secrets go. He knew her secret now . . . he had seen it in her eyes and frankly he wondered how he hadn't seen it before . . . she loved him. Now it was his turn to tell the truth, to whisper what may unravel everything.

He raised his face and could see that she was still breathing into the pillow from the aftermath of so much pleasure. He raised her by the hands and moved quickly, tucking them under her and having her completely pinned and unmoving. He had to move fast before he gave in to his other emotions.

She went to turn her head, but he grabbed her by the neck and pushed it gently back onto the pillow. He was gentle but forceful, only with her; not like any of the other victims at all.

He leaned his face in for the telling, for the whisper, for what would ruin it all. He could hear the crinkling of the plastic sheets beneath them as he moved, though he was sure that her ears could not pick up the sound. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as his lips grazed the powder-soft skin of her neck. He could feel the veins pulsating beneath his lips.

His fangs extended, wanting to taste the flesh, revealing the predator inside him. He held his breath and closed his eyes, hesitating.

"No, no . . ." he thought to himself. "No, I can't, not like this, not to her."

The fangs disappeared slowly and he kissed her neck tenderly, letting go of her. He was instantly sorry that he had ever come so close to taking her life.

He went up to her ear and whispered the other secret he had discovered instead, the secret he had also known since the first time he had ever seen her, "I love you Anne."


	3. 2: Morning Struggles

_Ch. 2: Morning Struggles_

He awoke with his arms around her protectively. He knew he had failed miserably at what he had set out to do. He smiled as she brought her body closer to his in her sleep and whispered his name. He kissed her hair as he closed his eyes again.

Death had not won this time but he worried for her safety around him. He knew he was a danger to her even though he loved her with all of his human being. He knew the predator inside would sooner or later take over, needing the blood more than anything else. He knew that answering her phone call had been wrong, knew that telling her it was okay to come over had been wrong, but it was too late to go back now. She was there now; nestled safely in his arms if only for a few more moments and he would enjoy it as long as he could.

"Anne" he whispered softly in her ear, nudging her neck tenderly with his nose.

She barely moved, only sighed deeply.

"Anne" he said again, a little louder as he kissed her neck this time.

"What?" she asked sleepily.

"Don't you have to go to work?" he asked smiling softly as he continued to kiss her neck.

She instantly jumped out of bed, startled and looking for the time. "It's 8:00 a.m. Anne," he said chuckling softly as he watched her searching for her underwear, struggling to cover herself with a blanket.

"I need to get home and change so I can get to work Steven, it's not funny!" she laughed. "Have you seen my underwear?" she asked.

"You mean these?" he asked, waving her lace panties from a finger in front of his face with a wicked smile.

She dove for them and he pulled them out of her reach. "Uh-uh" he shook his head. "You have to kiss me for them first," he laughed.

"Steven!" she screamed in despair. "I don't have time for games," she said with a look that could kill.

She dove for them again and he pulled them out of her reach, grabbing her instead by the waist. "I told you, not until you give me a kiss," he said, kissing her softly and handing over her underwear.

She turned bright red as he let her go and watched her intently. He surveyed every curve of her body, watched every strand of her hair as it fell into her eyes and she tucked it behind her ears. She got up to start changing, holding the blanket tightly around her, protectively almost. She looked over her shoulder at him and instantly reminded him of a goddess, some sort of dark-haired Aphrodite; he instantly smiled at the thought.

"Don't look," she said a little ashamed of her own body, ashamed of the beauty that he saw in her. She didn't want him to see everything so clearly. She was afraid he'd see something he didn't like.

He smiled again, wondering how she could ever be afraid of being nude in front of him. She _was_ beautiful, flawless in his eyes; he'd told her countless times when she asked about his portrayals of her. He always told her that he portrayed her as she was but she couldn't see it, she refused to see it. Ah, he'd leave convincing her for another day, right now he needed to give in and just let her get to work. The sooner she was gone the sooner he could think on what to do now, the sooner he could think on the events of the night before. He closed his eyes sighing and went back to sleep, letting the darkness take him whole.


	4. 3: Crocodile Tears

_Ch. 3: Crocodile Tears_

He awoke in the early afternoon and was sad to see the empty space next to him. He could still smell her in his room and smiled as he breathed deeply. Her scent calmed him, soothed him even. He turned and faced the sheets, breathing in deeply where she lay the night before and whispering her name into the covers longingly.

He sat up and stared at the sheets, hearing the plastic crinkle under his weight. "Ah yes, that . . ." he whispered to himself as he began to remove the satin and stared at the plastic beneath him.

He got up from the bed and removed the plastic and continued to stare at the blood stains on his mattress, hoping that she would never get to see them. He put everything away and put fresh sheets upon the bed for whatever would happen that night, he wasn't sure that she would be coming back, though he hoped she would after the night before.

He dressed himself and ate something before cleaning up the apartment. He cleaned up after everything that was left out the night before. He cleaned up the plates and took out the garbage. He placed her flowers in a vase for her.

He went to his secret room and retrieved his notebook of her. He wrote down his notes of her. How she smelled, how wonderful she was, how he didn't think he would be able to do this to her. He wrote down what she wore, every detail of her clothing down to her matching lace underwear. He wrote down the way that her hair fell into her eyes and tucked it behind her ears, the way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she touched him. He wrote everything without missing a detail as to what happened between the two of them.

His heart began to pound loudly in his ears as he recounted how she tasted as his lips discovered her skin. His heart ran more rapidly as he retold his little black book how soft her skin was and how wonderful she smelled as she longed for him to make love to her and how he did so.

As he began to tell of how he was about to take her and realized that he could not because he had finally learned to love, drops of scarlet began to fall upon the paper. He looked around for the source and realized that it was him, his hand actually. The cut he had received from stapling Anne's drawing into his notebook had begun to bleed. He knew that he needed blood soon but he refused to take it from her. He didn't want death to take her, not without a fight first. He had stopped healing now, a really bad sign that his body was deteriorating.

He got up and cleaned his cut, putting fresh Elastoplasts on it. He began to draw her face to pass the time, consumed by her. He couldn't get enough of her. She was within him, within his mind; he had to get her out somehow. He drew her feature like mad, her large almond eyes were on dozens of pages, her dark hair was on even more pages . . . her lips, her hands, her legs, her breasts . . . He began to bleed again as he continued to sketch her face, her body and he used the blood to paint the scarlet of her lips, the rosy pink of her nipples.

"Thou art all fair my love and there is no flaw in you," he whispered to her smiling outline. "Will you accept me Anne? Will you accept me for who I am?" he asked sadly as he stared at her whilst the blood continued to flow from his finger.

He got up and paced around the room impatiently, angry and confused. He got up to a wall and punched it hard, giving it a small dent, cracking it a little. He walked up to his drawing in the living room and looked at it full of hatred and contempt.

"I guess you've won haven't you?" he spat at Death. "Can't you just give me _her_? I only want her!" he begged Death, his face full of rage.

He went back to his secret room and picked up his little black book once more to write what had been plaguing him:

_I am a creature of habit, a predator. They say that the human kind has three brains: their normal human brain, one mammalian brain, and one reptilian brain. So when the psychologist tells you to lie down on the couch he tells you to lie down with a horse and a crocodile. As for me, I prefer the wisdom my crocodile nature has to offer me._

_Man has the capacity for both good **and** evil, a quality I find amazing in them. Men kill every day; they kill indiscriminately not because they are hunters or predators but because they can. So which part of them is it that tells them to murder one another? Is it the human, the horse, or the crocodile? I can tell you right now it isn't the horse._

_Crocodiles hunt by nature; they are merely predators who hunt when they need to, not because they want to. So which is it? Is it the human or the crocodile? I think you know the answer, I **hope** you know the answer._

_I kill because I need to, because it is the way I live. I thrive off blood, the blood of my victims, victims that have fallen in love with me. I need these women to fall in love with me in order for me to exist, without them I **cannot** be. I live off their sorrow, malice, happiness, their weaknesses and love. I live off their emotions and those sentiments produce a unique crystal out of me, a crystal stemming from their feelings, their pains. I do not kill because I like it, were it so it would be so much easier. None of my kills have been easy and I have never felt anything for any woman . . . until now._

_My Anne, she is **all** good and **all** fair, there is not a drop of malice in that one. I don't know what she is, whether she is more horse than crocodile or human. She is gentle and kind, always impatient. She is **my** image of perfection. She is without sorrow, without hatred and pain, though her weakness I already recognize along with her envy of other women in my eyes. Her blood will be the sweetest of all though I fear to taste it. I love her with all my heart and I **will** fight anyone that tries to take her away from me, even if that person is my other self._

_I had never thought to fall in love but it is what has happened. I **need** her as much as she needs me to feel whole. I fear what I may do to her the day that my crocodile nature takes over, the day that my predatory nature takes over. My human side I **can** control. I **am** **not** a malicious creature, no matter what anyone may think. I have killed numerous times, but only out of need. I do not want to kill my Anne; I would rather let her go before that happens._

He closed the notebook, exhausted from his emotions. He wiped the tears from his eyes, relieved of his feelings. The pages were covered with black ink as well as with drops of his blood. He hissed at the pain in his hand and ran to the restroom to clean his hand again. He gazed into his own eyes and saw the pain in them, the sorrow. He knew it couldn't go on much longer, but like he said that morning . . . he would hold on as long as he could.


End file.
